Fireflies
by chickenwriter
Summary: A short Reba and Brock oneshot about when they were younger.


_Fireflies_

_**Written For: Felicia**_

_**Why: Because I couldn't resist. When I told you I wasn't writing Reba and Brock fanfics anymore, you looked mad(for some odd and unknown reason) and I can't make you mad because friends don't do that. But you owe me big time! REVIEW MY STORIES, CHILD!**_

_**Why else: Because I love you. And I was bored.**_

_**A/N: (For the normal people)Sorry about that... Any way...I just sat down and wrote it, don't know where it came from. Enjoy. And I kindly ask you to review. Please.**_

_I'd grown to realize his little annoying habits. Leaving the toilet seat up (well, what un-trained man didn't), forgetting anniversaries (again...), trying to run his fingers through my hair (only to discover that the amount of hair spray in my hair prevented this from happening), buying me coconut chocolates (knowing I was allergic), tapping his fingers constantly and rolling his shoulders while he was driving (creating a horrible cracking noise). But when you got right down to it, I loved my boyfriend._

1979 created the perfect summer in North Texas, where both me and Brock worked, lived and played hard. The low in the forecast was a dry 70 and rain seldom ruined the mood. The Swinger, a bar and grill (I use the terms 'and grill' lightly) where me and my boyfriend worked and spent most of our time at, was always busy. Brock played the role of bartender, and I the role of waitress. We worked for the money, not that we had time to spend it, and because we had nothing better to do. I sang on the little stage in her spare time, for tips of course, hoping one day to make it big.

Then it happened. A warm summer evening crept up upon the little town in North Texas, and Brock asked me to go with him in his truck to go swimming. Of course, I agreed.

"This is mighty far away to be goin' swimmin', Brock." I pointed out as we pulled off to the side of the road. There was a swimming hole nearby, he informed me, as they got out.

"I wanted us to be alone." He took both my hands in his and kissed me lightly on the cheek.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Natures light-show lit up the secluded woody area, a romantic glow coming about. I loved the fireflies, and catching them in a jar made a lamp that could not be bought in any store.

"Brock! There's fireflies!" I shouted. He once told me that what captivated him, I guess, was how I had always had a childish spirit, and had shown it to him so willingly.

"Well, by all means, let's catch them." He turned to grab something from the truck, and from behind his back produced a jar, already poked with holes, very useful for such an occasion as this.

"How'd you know?" But peering closer into the jar brought tears to my eyes, for it was anything but empty. A diamond ring lay neatly in the bottom of it, and as I looked up, Brock was down on one knee. "Oh..."

"Reba Nell Foster, will you marry me?"

"I..." I responded by pulling him up and kissing him lightly on the lips.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Did you ask Daddy?"

"MmmHmm." Brock mumbled, remembering _that_ day well.

_If you ever make my carrot-top cry, I swear..._

"Good, I love you."

"I love you, too, Reba. I always will."

We hadn't waited long to get married, neither of us wanted a large wedding, maybe 50 guests, or so. Plus family, of course. My sister's guest list had hit the 600 mark easily, and that was not what I wanted. I had never been high-maintenance, now was not the time to start. A simple dress, limited poof, no lace, no train. It hugged my curves (loosely, but still.), and the beading was elaborate where it did exist. It was strapless, and Mama did not approve, but I fell in love with it.

Brock always said when I walked down the aisle, I commanded that room, all eyes were on me. But my eyes were on Brock. The room melted away and it was just the pending married couple left. (Well, to me.) We said our vows, and it was official. We were forever hitched.

A few years later, Cheyenne was born, making our family complete. She was followed by Kyra, and then Jake. They being followed by the woman who ruined our marriage, Barbara Jean.

I had always thought we would grow old together, celebrate 25, 30, then 50 years of holy matrimony, going through whatever it took to make us happy. But when I called Brock at 3:00 a.m. only to hear a woman giggling in the background, I knew this would never happen. Perhaps, if we tried, we could get through this. So then came the couples therapy and the day when Brock told me he had knocked up his mistress. Our marriage shattered in those few words, and I broke down.

"You what?"

"I'm sorry."

"Oh sure, you're sorry now!"

"Reba..."

"Brock!"

"Reba, do you remember how you used to love fireflies?"

"Brock, this is not the time for nostalgia!"

We agreed to divorce, sort of agreed at least, but I was not happy. Our family is once again solid however, and I know we'll be okay. I wouldn't be the person I am today, if it weren't for those darn fireflies and that warm summer evening in '79.


End file.
